


Talk To Me

by tatteredspider



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Drinking, Gen, Sadness, Trying to Forget, comforting the boss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 05:33:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4088839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatteredspider/pseuds/tatteredspider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I read a confession on dragonageconfessions.tumblr.com about how very few characters ask the heroes of DA how they are doing after missions (save for Varric, Cassandra and Dorian once or twice) and I really needed to change that. So after Adament Fortress, when Malia Lavellan is pretty close to losing it, in steps The Iron Bull.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talk To Me

     Malia Lavellan slumped on her stool, elbows on the bar and a tankard the size of her head griped in her fingers. So far it was her third and they were barely making a dent in her mood. And it was a shit of a mood, she was more than willing to admit to herself. She'd never had to look a man in the face and tell him he had to stay in order for others to live. Stroud had nodded and run off to his death, allowing Hawke and herself to get to the rift that the others had already fled through to escape the Fade. But damn if she hadn't wanted to stay herself, and if it weren't for the fact that she had to get out to be able to close the unholy thing, she would have.

     “Hey, Boss. You okay?”

     She shuddered slightly as she brought the tankard to her mouth. She could barely taste the ale as it touched her lips, finding that it reminded her more and more of the water they were forced to drink there in that other world. Like burnt metal and rotting fish, but without it they would dehydrate over time and so they sipped from the rivers and prayed that it wouldn't make them sick. Minutes, hours, days, no one knew how long they were there, time moved without rhyme or reason, back and forth and up and down...

     “Boss? Answer me, okay?”

     Fingers, thick and scarred, dangled in front of her eyes but Malia was lost in her memories. Lost in the pain of watching a brave Warden nod at her decision, asking for her promise to help his brethren, draw up his form and lunge into battle against a beast he could never beat, knowing he was going to his death so that she and Hawke could escape. Tears were begining to course down her cheeks but she didn't feel them there.

     “Okay, that's it.”

     Her tankard was leaving. Why was her tankard leaving? Malia made an attempt to hold on to the levitating cup only to almost end up dangling from the giant hand that pulled it away. Her eyes followed the length of the gray skinned fingers, up the attached arm and massive neck to find The Iron Bull looking down at her with concern. _Oh, Bull! I'm so glad you weren't there. I don't think I could have handled the possibility of leaving you behind._

     Bull placed the tankard farther down the bar out of arm's reach and turned his attention back to the Inquisitor. She was pale, with dark circles beneath her eyes as though she hadn't slept in some time, tears streaking her cheeks and causing a red flush. She was haunted. _What did they do to you? He thought to himself. Don't they understand that you're not some all-knowing, impervious creature, but mortal just like everybody else?_

     He watched as she straightened, trying to slip the face of the Inquisitor back into place. Normally, even three sheets to the wind, she had no problem sliding from Malia to Inquisitor without a thought. But tonight, well tonight it was a struggle. Tonight the Inquisitor just wanted to lie dormant and let Malia be Malia.

     Decision made, Bull stooped to sweep the diminutive elf up in his arms, taking a brief moment to breathe deeply of her hair. He wouldn't admit to anyone- well, maybe Cole but that's only because he would already know- but he had a serious weakness for the Boss and the way she smelled. Like fresh strawberries and thick clotted cream, with just a hint of cinnamon. It made him think of his life before Seheron when he roamed Par Vollen and the berries had grown wild to be plucked whenever you desired. She struggled, more out of habit as opposed to a true desire to be let down, then wrapped her arms about his neck as he asceneded to the upper levels of the inn, burying her face in his chest.

     He continued to climb, nodding thanks to Cole when the boy... spirit... demon... whatever held the door to the battlements open for them. He crossed open pathways to unoccupied rooms and back to battlements until he reached his destination, an unclaimed room with a pile of rubbish that had accumulated with the cleaning of other rooms in the Keep and an old bed with a mattress that, while old, was still good though it smelled lightly of mothballs.

     He carefully set the woman down upon the mattress with only the smallest puff of dust then sat down next to her, careful not to disturb her too greatly. She appeared to have drifted to sleep at first, except for the fact that the tears still flowed. Carefully, more gently than if he were handling blown glass, he lay a hand upon her brow, brushing away thick strands of red hair so dark as to appear almost chestnut.

     “Talk to me, Malia,” he said softly. “We're alone now. You can tell me anything and everything that you need to. It will never leave these walls.”

     Malia opened her eyes to glance blearily at the qunari. He looked so sincere, so willing, that before she realized what she was doing the tale of the Fade was slipping from her lips. She told him of the fall, the sights and scents, the water and the demons and Justinia. She told him of the Nightmare demon and the giant spider and Stroud's death. And by the end, with her sobs choking her throat, Malia realized that she did truly feel better for having unburdened herself of her guilt and fears. And because during the telling she had climbed up into Bull's lap and tangled her arms around his neck she felt better still.

     She hiccuped as she smiled into his warm chest. “Thank you, Bull. For listening.”

     He chuckled, his own arms wrapped around her diminutive waist. “Whenever you need me, Boss, I'll be there for you. And no more away missions without me. Promise?”

     Malia sighed into his skin and smiled. “Promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you're of a mood, I'd love new followers at (https://www.tumblr.com/blog/writingfromaholeinthewall)


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